These TWO words cracked me open

She looked at me — really looked at me — and said the two words that brought me tears. I don’t know what I was expecting. But it wasn’t that.

I had just landed in Copenhagen Airport, the smell of birchwood and coffee machines already tugging at some old part of me. I walked toward passport control. The line was short. Smooth. No grimy U.S. carpet. No officer with a stiff posture and a US. American flag stitched into their shoulder, scanning like you’re already guilty.

And then I saw her.

A brown officer. Even with my Danish passport in hand, my body still braced. That quiet alertness I’ve learned to carry across borders. Because when you’ve lived your whole life n’between —between countries, between cultures, between categories.

Even coming home can feel like a test.

I handed her my passport. She looked at it. Looked at me. And then she said it.

The two words. 🥺 🥺

“Velkommen hjem.”

"Welcome home". She didn’t say it like an automated script. No, it was personal. She said it with presence. With a gaze that said: "I know what it costs to return". It was hers — the way only another n’betweener could say it. She knew. She saw me. And in that moment, she received me. ♥️

And just like that, I cracked.

My throat tightened. Tears welled — quiet, but undeniable. I took a deep breath. Let the scent of the terminal flood me.

As n’betweeners, we don’t always feel at home. Whether that “home” is a country, a racial category, a gender identity, a culture, a neighborhood, or even our own bodies.

So to be received — without hesitation — is radical.

To be welcomed home, especially by someone who knoooows. It’s not just tender. It’s sacred.

And now, I write this to you from another home. My home in New York. A different rhythm. A louder welcome. And still — mine. Because maybe for us, home isn’t a fixed place. Maybe home is the moment we’re seen. The moment we’re met.

That’s what the nest is about - it's your n'betweener home.

The moment someone says — with a quiet nod, a deep knowing — I see you. You belong.

When do you feel most at home?

Please tell me, I want to know in the comments.

Kram,

Nora

P.S. This one’s for every n’betweener who has walked through the wrong line, had the wrong passport, or felt like the wrong kind of citizen. You’re not wrong. You’re human. You’re complex. And yes — you’re home.